


Agent Aiba

by soraflye (flitterfly5)



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 03:25:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4650453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flitterfly5/pseuds/soraflye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Aiba was the best in his field, dispatching targets effortlessly one after the other… but he could never forget the first man he killed, and it’s making it hard for him to do his next mission: terminating that man’s lover, Ohno Satoshi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Agent Aiba

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted in LJ.  
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, not associated with any of the persons/organizations mentioned in the work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
He’d only been active for about two months, but Agent Aiba was already considered the best in his field, and his deadliest weapon? That dangling, six-and-a-half-inch-when-erect shooter of potent white ammo that hung between his legs.   
  
No one knew how he always managed to get an in (and really, those who found out never lived to tell the tale), but everyone had to agree that when it came to executions, every one of Aiba’s had a certain distinct flair.   
  
  
  
**CASE RECORD 006**  
  
Sakurai Sho was the easiest target ever. Aiba knew from the moment he set eyes on him that this particular job would take no more than an hour. A glass of scotch, an arm around the waist, a flirtatiously muffled courtesy, and the man was already eagerly leading him home, fumbling for the keys as Aiba dappled kiss after kiss onto his sweat-flushed neck.   
  
Sho didn’t realize it until it was too late, and all six and a half inches of Aiba were stuffed down his throat in a moist, throbbing gag. In vain he struggled, clawing at a pillow while Aiba’s soft brown eyes twinkled above him with vaguely discernable satisfaction.  
  
“Sorry,” said those lips, still wet from Sakurai’s sloppy kisses. “I’d let you have one last orgasm, but the Giants are playing tonight.”   
  
Sho whimpered as the steely length jabbed right into his epiglottis and began to spurt a suffocating warm fluid. Both gag and cough reflexes seemed to hit him one after the other, but both were thwarted by the brutal girth of Aiba stuffed adamantly in his mouth.   
  
The last thing he felt was heat, a tangy taste, and choking… lots and lots of choking.   
  
  
  
**CASE REPORT 001**  
  
It’s not that Aiba never felt remorse for what he did. He still remembered his first kill, some little nobody called Nino. He had cornered him, closed in, and sent a bullet straight through that shivering little temple. The boy had crumpled, his thin body dropping like a sack of loose bones into Aiba’s chest, and Aiba had felt it then, that slight twinge of regret, as he watched the blood trickle out and congeal around that faded  _GIANTS_  logo sewn on Nino’s baseball cap.  
  
His boss had smiled when he made his report later that day. It wasn’t a very _nice_  smile, but then again, people in their line of work could never quite shake off that air of menace that was bred into their being.   
  
“You’re sure he died unbesmirched?” The boss had seemed amused by that. “Ohno didn’t touch him?”  
  
“No, sir.” Aiba had answered respectfully, wondering if he might get a bonus for it.  
  
“Good.” The boss had chuckled, and again, it wasn’t a very  _nice_  chuckle. Aiba remembered shivering at the ice in those tarry eyes as a case of cash was thrust in his face.   
  
“He should have known, that idiot, that if I can’t have him,  _no one can_.”  
  
Aiba had grabbed his payment and fled, but he hadn’t even made it out the building before his phone began beeping with a new assignment:   
  
_Now terminate Ohno._  
  
Aiba had thought of Nino’s wide, innocent eyes in the moment just before his death.   
  
And he had decided that from then on,  _no one_  should die in such terror.  
  
  
  
**PROGRESS NOTE 002.001**  
  
Ohno Satoshi was supposed to be an easy second notch in his assassin belt, but Aiba had not counted on the sleepy-eyed little man being so  _resilient_. The first time Aiba sidled up to him in the ostentatiously civilian setting of a tea shop, he had been teaching little kids how to fold balloons into animals. There had been such sadness in his smile, such pronounced mechanical dejection in the dexterity of his fingers as they twisted and worked at the bright squeaky rubber.  
  
It was only the second day since Nino’s termination.   
  
Aiba had almost felt guilty again, and the image of Nino’s blood and Nino’s eyes had threatened to break through his mind. But his training kicked in just in time and he managed to lean back with the languid ease of the killer he was, surveying his target and reminding himself that really, if you were to think about it from a strictly practical point of view, he was actually doing this Ohno _a favor_.   
  
_A clean, pleasurable death._  
  
He’d tilted his head musingly.   
  
_Well, I suppose that_ is _a favor of sorts._  
  
“Hello,” he smiled disarmingly, after deciding that he’d done enough pretend-playing with the little girl sitting on the periphery. “Do you mind if I join the lesson?”  
  
He snuck Ohno a look from under his lashes, and flushed a little (on purpose) so Ohno might think him shy. It was always good to come off shy.  
  
“Feel free,” Ohno’s eyes flickered, and then withdrew back into their invisible shell of grief. “Just sit in the back where you won’t block anyone.”  
  
Aiba was hardly deterred by the indifference. He could scent vulnerability like a shark on fresh blood, after all, and in that moment, he really thought that this mission was going to be a cherry-picking walk in the park.   
  
How naïve of him.   
  
  
  
**CASE RECORD 007**  
  
Matsumoto Jun was the type who liked it rough.   
  
He played dominant and talked dirty and gave Aiba’s perky butt cheeks way too many slaps than was rightfully warranted in even a BDSM relationship, but when it came to the actual  _penetrance_ part, his muscular thighs folded like a drying rack and he got on all fours like an animal in heat, mewling, groaning,  _begging_  to impaled and fucked and scratched and tortured.   
  
Which was fine with Aiba, because really, that just made his job _that_ much easier to do.   
  
“Talk dirty to me, uunnhh…” Jun’s eyes were closed, his whole body a blur of sweaty abandon. “Call me your bitch, your cock-hungry little bitch who’s good for nothing but a sloppy fu—mmnnffgghh!!”  
  
“You talk too much.” Aiba didn’t even raise his voice as he tightened his hand over the pearly throat and squeezed down, feeling with satisfaction the frantic but weakening gulps against his fingers.   
  
“Don’t worry,” he chuckled as he continued thrusting into the cock-hungriest part of Jun. “I’ll milk you before I kill you.”   
  
Jun tried thrashing, his well-toned limbs flailing in every direction but Aiba’s, but when Aiba’s thrusting finally stopped and  a powerful jet of warm foam spurted straight onto his prostate, Jun surrendered, one last moan of painful abandon escaping his lips before his own seed erupted, and the fingers clamped inexorably down around his tortured neck.  
  
_One final time._  
  
“Damn,” was the last thing Matsumoto Jun heard before the long sleep claimed him.   
  
“The Giants have already started.”  
  
  
  
**PROGRESS NOTE 002.002**  
  
Ohno was cautious, in a way that reminded Aiba of an injured kitten or maybe a flighty bird. He never opened up, despite Aiba’s best efforts to get him to talk; he never leaned on Aiba either, despite Aiba’s constant sweet-talk and offers of support.   
  
Sometimes, Aiba was actually tempted to tell him that he knew everything about his grief, that the telltale traces of that accursed Nino were as clear as daybreak in the deepening lines of Ohno’s face.   
  
Sometimes, Aiba was even tempted to tell him that he was the one who did it.   
  
He wondered if that’d get a reaction out of Ohno. Would Ohno be vengeful? He tried to imagine Ohno laughing over his dead body one day.   
  
The image wouldn’t come to mind. It was because Ohno never laughed. It’d been two months since Aiba had been handed his mission, and he’d never heard Ohno laugh even once.   
  
Aiba wondered what Ohno’s face would look like laughing. Surely, those honeyed eyes would crinkle, and those gleaming lips would widen, and that little fishhook scar on his cheek would flex and shimmer like…  
  
_God, I’m being ridiculous!_  
  
Aiba slapped the beeping polygraph cuff off his hand and threw it on the floor in frustration.   
  
_Fucking heart rate._  
  
He had been needing to practice a lot more these days, and it wasn’t doing him much good. Who would have thought that the elegantly ruthless Aiba Masaki would be shutting himself up two hours a night, practicing something that was practically second nature to everyone else in the field?   
  
Life felt like it had been turned upside down.  
  
_Fucking Ohno Satoshi._  
  
Aiba glanced at the perfect record on his screen.  _Ninomiya, check._   _Sakurai, check. Matsumoto, check._   _Ohno…_  
  
He closed the document with an irritated snap.  
  
_I better end him before he fucks up my mind completely._  
  
  
  
**PROGRESS REPORT 2.0**  
  
The boss wasn’t too happy with him. Well, that was to be expected. The assignment had dragged on for quite a bit now, after all, and he was only hired in the first place for his efficiency record.   
  
“Terminate him by tomorrow,” the boss snarled in his face. “Or I’ll terminate  _you_.”  
  
Aiba went over to Ohno’s that day with a gun tucked into his jacket.  
  
  
  
**PROGRESS NOTE 002.003**  
  
“Come with me, Ohno.”  
  
Ohno didn’t budge.  
  
“You have to come with me, Ohno!” His hand reached out and grabbed the man, perhaps more roughly than he should have, because Ohno’s face blanched briefly before settling back into its determined mask of inexpression.   
  
“Please…” He could feel the frustration wearing him down, the pleading note entering his normally well-schooled voice.   
  
“You _have_ to come. If you don’t, something—something bad will happen.” He looked deep into those dappled eyes, urging them to believe him, to tumble into the trap, clumsily constructed though it was.   
  
“Trust me,” he said, kicking himself mentally for the jarring insincerity in his own voice.  
  
The dust was falling across the slanting rays of sunset, its little wisps sinking slowly _, slowly_ , to the ground between them when Ohno finally raised his face, his bangs golden as they flopped against his forehead.   
  
“Okay,” he answered.  
  
A hand slipped trustingly into Aiba’s, and Aiba’s heart lurched like a car on slammed brakes.   
  
  
  
**PROGRESS NOTE 002.004**  
  
Ohno didn’t even flinch when Aiba drew the gun.   
  
“I’m sorry,” said Aiba, and he really did feel regretful as he advanced upon his target. “It’s nothing personal, I promise, but orders are orders…”  
  
Ohno merely lowered his head, and murmured something to the floor.   
  
“…?” Aiba stepped closer, cocking the safety up. At this distance, Ohno seemed even more diminutive than usual, and he smelled faintly of vanilla, a very creamy, soft vanilla. It made Aiba sort of dizzy, not really in the physical sense, but still, dizzy.  
  
“Did you want to say something?” he asked quietly, the gun now kissing Ohno’s temple, just like it had kissed Nino’s two months ago.   
  
“…this isn’t your style,” Ohno mumbled, barely heeding the menace of the cold metal.   
  
Aiba narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”  
  
“The gun.” Was it just Aiba’s imagination, or did a pink tinge start spreading over Ohno’s cheeks?   
  
“The Aiba I’ve heard of has a… a different weapon of choice.”  
  
Ohno was now looking up and straight into his eyes, the pink in his face very much enhanced as they both drew a shaky breath from the stagnant air between them. Aiba’s heart started racing as the implication of those words sank in.   
  
_He knows. But how? How did he find out? How long has he known?_  
  
Slender fingers came up to gently tug at the wrist of his tensely clenched gun-hand.   
  
“I’ve watched you ever since he died.” It was as if Ohno could read his thoughts. “It was painful, but I... I couldn't stop.”  
  
The gun clattered to the floor with a tinkle, and Aiba could almost hear his heart beating through his chest as their fingers began to intertwine, like two strands of spider silk ghosting around each other, each touch both a test and an unspoken promise.   
  
“You knew.” His breath was becoming uncharacteristically short, every carefully mastered art of seduction wiped clean from his mind, every calculated tease, every deliberate sigh, all gone, all blank. For the first time ever, Aiba Masaki was running on adrenaline alone, and they hadn’t even touched more than just hands.  
  
“Don’t stop,” Ohno whispered, as Aiba slowly backed him into a wall. “Do it to me, just like you did to all the others.”  
  
He closed his dewy eyes and turned his head to expose the soft curve of his unblemished neck.   
  
“After all, it’s either me or you, right?” he said in a small voice.  
  
Aiba’s head was so engorged with pounding blood that he neither saw nor heard anything but the submissive invitation in the exposed flesh in front of him. In no time, his lips were on it, eliciting a small fluttering moan from Ohno, and with that tantalizing encouragement, he travelled up to meet Ohno’s sighing mouth.   
  
Their first kiss was slow and compliant, with none of the urgency of Aiba’s previous conquests. Ohno’s lips were responsive but not demanding, and Aiba, in his unbridled desire, couldn’t resist coursing deeper with his tongue. He was losing control, he knew, but he was past caring; Ohno's soft nose was currently rubbing into his, and things like  _control_  just didn't seem to matter anymore.   
  
“Satoshi,” he breathed, both eyes slightly glazed from the passion in his body. “I... I think I'm falling-”  
  
“No!” Ohno cut him off before he could say the unspeakable. A single tear glimmered in his dappled eye. “At least, not... not with me...”  
  
Breaking away, the small man covered his face and sank down, hugging his knees to his chest as a train of tiny choking noises began to escape him. Aiba stood, still stunned by the innocent grief in that bewitching kiss, and they stayed in those positions until the muffled sobs died down and Ohno finally raised his face-- slowly, heavily, helplessly-- to look again upon his intended assassin.   
  
“Kill me now, Aiba,” he said in a voice of self-loathing. “An hour ago, no, ten minutes ago, I thought I could embrace death. But I was wrong.” His eyes moved to settle on where the discarded gun lay, fully loaded, just a few feet away. “The more I let you in, the less I want to leave.”  
  
Aiba did not move, though the contours of Ohno’s face were getting awfully blurry, and for some reason, Aiba’s eyes were getting awfully warm and moist, too. Forcefully, he blinked, trying to clear it, but all it did was send a salty trickle down one of his cheeks.  
  
“Kill me now,” said Ohno again, very quietly this time. “Before I fall even deeper.”  
  
Aiba looked down at the honey-colored eyes, the grungy, faded T-shirt, and the fresh tearstains that dotted it. Without a word, he straightened up, walked over to where the gun lay and picked it up.   
  
Ohno took a deep breath, and closed his eyes once more.   
  
“He’ll be waiting for me on the other side, right?” He gave a brave, trembling smile.   
  
There was a soft 'click' and he flinched, but no bullet breached his body. Instead, he heard six consecutive clangs of metal hitting the floor.  
  
_Huh?_  
  
Ohno’s eyes snapped open in confusion.   
  
“What are you doing?" he gasped. "They’ll kill you—!”  
  
But his words were cut off by a sudden swoop of Aiba’s arms, and next thing he knew, he was lifted up bodily with his cheek resting flush against his assailant’s neck and both feet dangling in mid-air as Aiba kicked aside the bullets he’d just emptied onto the floor.  
  
“Put your arms around my neck,” said Aiba, reaching for the door.  
  
Ohno looked at him, at his tousled hair and tight lips and the way he stared right back into his eyes like a fixed, unrelenting searchlight.   
  
“You know they’ll kill the both of us,” he whispered, curling a couple of fingers into his assassin’s hair.   
  
“So let them,” Aiba dipped his head, breathing in their shared scent of tears and desire.  
  
“As long as it’s the both of us.”  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
**END**

**Author's Note:**

> Tennens are (ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ ♥. I feel like words don’t do them justice. Maybe that’s why their fics are so rare?


End file.
